by Penny Brooke
The next day Peter came to get me again, but this time when we went into his office, Fred was sitting there. I hugged him briefly. I knew signs of affection made him uncomfortable, but I badly needed friends at the moment.
“How you doing, kid?” he asked in a voice that was not unkind.
“I could be better.”
“I’ll bet. Listen, you left before I got a chance to tell you what I found out about that ball of yours. I came by to let your boyfriend here know about it. I think the judge should hear it, and maybe he’ll let you go.”
I flushed when I heard the term “boyfriend” but Peter didn’t flinch. My life was so confusing.
“So, Peter, here’s the deal,” Fred said. “As you saw, Marlena warmed up to the jewelry store guy, Henry Lowden.”
Peter nodded. “Go on.”
“Well, I did some digging and found out that Henry Lowden took a four-day insurance policy in the amount of fifty million on that necklace—liability and theft. You see, the museum who loans it out does that on a regular basis it seems. They don’t want to pay the insurance on it, so they make whoever is borrowing it pay the premiums. So, this rock disappears on his watch, and that means his insurance has to pony up.”
“Are you sure about this?”
“Oh, yeah, my guys are solid. We can get the documentation eventually, but for now, the knowledge itself is pretty powerful. So, now we have little Miss Gypsy gal hanging all over him. He might’ve told her about the insurance, and she maybe offered him a ‘deal’—if you get my drift.”
“But that doesn’t explain how it got into Fiona’s safe.”
“Are you sure what you picked up is the real thing? Are you sure what we all saw in the armored vehicle was the real thing? Maybe there’s more than one of these pendants hanging around collecting on insurance policies. Just maybe we need to check that out before we lock up Fiona for possession.”
Peter was playing with his pencil. “You make a valid point. I’m not sure where I can find a gemologist on short notice, but I’ll sure try.”
“Thank you, Peter,” I said gratefully. “And you, Fred.”
“Now look,” Fred continued. “A little background on the original necklace. Way the heck back, like five hundred years ago, the Maharajah of Valka fell in love with a Princess from Spain. She was young enough to be his daughter, and her father didn’t approve. He wanted grandchildren, and I gather the old Maharajah wasn’t father material anymore. So, the old guy had the pendant made up, which must have cost a fine penny, and he gave it to her. Now, get this part. She gave him back what they called a ‘seeing glass.’ Now would either of you happen to know anything that might be called that?”
“Oh, my gawd, Fred. My crystal ball? Is that why Marlena is so mad and wants it back? That would make it almost as valuable as the pendant itself.”
Peter spoke up. “Which you already have, or had, Fiona.”
Fred shifted in his chair. “Now, I’m not saying these are the two—for all we know they’re both fakes. But, if they’re not, it seems like they might be some kind of a pair and if sold together, worth many times over what one piece alone would bring. Now, I ask you… who would know that?”
Peter picked up a pencil and pulled a sheet paper toward himself. “You didn’t know this, did you, Fiona?”
I shook my head vehemently. “I thought the ball was just that—a glass ball and what I saw I could have also seen if I’d looked at a wall or the sidewalk. It didn’t make sense.”
“Okay, we’ll leave your name off for now. There are better suspects. I’m thinking this puts Marlena back on the list.”
Fred nodded. “And how about that jewelry store boyfriend?”
“Him, too,” Peter said. “Anyone else either of them might have told?”
All three of us said in unison, “Bernette Tyson.”
Peter spoke up again. “Well. This certainly puts a different light on things. I need to wake up the judge.”
“Oh, don’t do that, Peter,” I said. “I don’t mind. The bed isn’t so bad, and it’s at least quiet here. I actually would like a good night’s sleep, and I have you watching over me. Tomorrow morning would be soon enough.”
Fred looked at me. “Fiona, only you would beg to stay overnight in jail.”
Peter looked doubtful, too. “Are you sure, Fiona?”
“Yes, I think everyone should get a good night’s sleep before talking to the judge. There are so many angles to all this, and after all, we don’t even know if we have the true pendant. I don’t want to make him mad.”
Fred spoke up. “She makes a good point.”
“Well, if you’re really sure, Fiona.”
“I am.” I nodded. “I’ll be fine.”
“Okay, then let me take you back, and we’ll get some sleep. I’ll leave word with the man on duty that if you ask to talk to me, he will immediately call me, and I’ll be in. Okay?”
“Works for me,” I agreed. “Night, Fred.”
“See you in the morning, Fiona.”
Peter took me back to the cell. He leaned over and whispered, “If it weren’t for the cameras, I’d kiss you right now.”
“If it weren’t for the cameras, I’d like that,” I answered.
“I’ll see you in the morning.” I watched Peter’s back as he walked away and suddenly felt very lonely without him. What happened to the peace and quiet I’d come back to Tempest to find?
13
Where oh Where?
It was morning, and Peter came for me to appear before the judge for arraignment. He’d tapped a friend of his quietly to represent me. His name was Dave Morton, and I remembered Dave from school. He’d been the captain of the basketball team. I smiled to myself, thinking how tall I’d thought he was at 6 feet, 4 inches, but now that was considered short in the world of basketball.
Dave shook my hand and talked with me in the cell.
“How did you get yourself involved in this mess?” he wanted to know.
I shrugged. “I came back to Tempest for the quiet, but it looks like somebody had other ideas. Has Peter told you about my slightly psychic abilities?” I didn’t say it loudly because I wanted him to realize I was trying to keep it quiet, although that was like trying to capture the cat after it got out of the bag.
“If you want to know the truth, there was some talk about that when we were still in school.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not crazy, not a witch, not even a fortune teller.”
He smiled. “I know, but you’re fascinating all the same.”
Peter walked up to the cell. “It’s time,” he pronounced. I felt like Anne Boleyn, walking to the chopping block, her friends and loved ones waving from the curious crowds. We went through the preliminaries under the judge’s glare.
The prosecutor stood and announced the charges and went to his table and brought a box to the evidence table. “Your Honor, I’d like to admit this into evidence at this point in the proceedings. It was reported missing, and Sheriff Sullivan witnessed the accused removing a bowling ball bag from her safe. The evidence dropped out of the bag.”
The judge nodded. “Very well. Let’s see this jewel.”
The prosecutor lifted the bag onto the judge’s bench. The judge asked the bailiff to bring a tag to label it and then slowly unzipped the bag. Reaching in with two hands, he removed the glass ball, turned it, and peered into the milky interior. “Huh,” he muttered and set it to one side. Opening the bag wide, the judge reached inside, feeling around. Tipping the bag toward himself to let more light in, he fished around inside again and finally turned the bag upside down and shook it. “There’s nothing in there.”
The prosecutor froze, obviously trying to figure out what had happened. He approached the bench and reached for the bag. “With your permission, Your Honor?” The judge handed over the bag and, as if the results would be different in his hands, the prosecutor shook the bag and also turned it upside down. “I don’t understand. It was here when I sign
ed for it from the evidence locker,” he stuttered, looking around at his assistant.
The judge cleared his throat. “Inasmuch as the accused has come before the court in good faith but no proof of a crime can be presented by the prosecution, the accused is hereby cleared of any charges and free to go. Ms. Parkins, you have the court’s apology, most particularly from the prosecution.” Wham! He slammed the gavel and looked at the prosecutor. “As for you, I suggest you see Sheriff Sullivan and explain what you’ve done with the evidence or be held under charges of having stolen it.”
The prosecutor looked as if he would faint. Dave snapped shut his briefcase and looked at me. “Ready to go?” I nodded and followed him out of the courthouse. “Peter wants us to meet him at the diner at the edge of town. He wants to talk.”
I nodded. “Lead the way.”
Peter was waiting for us in a booth at the back of a roped-off section generally used for special private functions.
“Why all the cloak and dagger?” I asked as we approached.
“Sit down,” Peter said. “We need to talk.”
Dave pulled out a chair and motioned for me to sit down. He took the chair next to mine.
Peter wasted no time. “Where is it? Where is The Stolen Heart?”
I pulled back in surprise. “How should I know? The last time I saw it, you took it from my store. Remember?”
“Yes, of course, but I logged it into the evidence locker, and assuming the prosecutor is an honest man, where did it go?”
“Wait a minute, Peter. I’m not sure why you think I should know? You know I didn’t steal it to begin with, and now you’ve lost it again. I just happened to be an innocent bystander. So, just exactly what are you inferring?” I felt angry and unfairly accused.
“Calm down, Fiona. I’m not accusing you at all. The disappearance of The Stolen Heart took place in my jurisdiction. They’re going to be looking to me to come up with an explanation and to find it. I need help with this, and you have… well, you know.”
I nodded slowly. “You think I can just conjure up the answer at will? After all this time, I thought you understood me better than that.”
“Don’t take it as offense. Heck, if anything, Fiona, take it as validation that I accept your abilities, and I’m hoping you can use them to help solve this mystery.”
I calmed down as the server appeared at the table to take our orders. “Just bring me a cup of hot tea,” I requested.
The server nodded and moved away.
“Tea?” questioned Peter. “Is this a tea leaves kind of thing?”
I gave him a shriveling look. “Don’t start.”
“Fiona, your abilities aside… can you come up with any idea how that pendant got into your safe and into the bag? Those things don’t just walk around on their own.”
The server brought my tea, and I stirred half a packet of sugar into it. I was watching my weight and thinking at the same time. “Off-hand, no, I don’t. If I did, I would have used it in my own defense and kept from going to jail, you know.”
Peter grimaced and nodded.
“But,” I continued, “I’ll do some checking. I remembered while I was ‘in the slammer’ that I have some old books I inherited with Mortimer House from my aunt. She, as you may already know, was like me. An empath. There might be something in there that talks about The Stolen Heart. You know, these aren’t the same kinds of books you’d find at your local library. In fact, I’d consider them more of as being ‘in the trade.’”
Peter and Dave nodded.
“Well, look,” Peter began. “I have to get back to the office but wanted to touch base with you privately. You do your checking, and please let me know if you find anything that could be even remotely helpful. Dave, thank you again for your help. I owe you one.”
“My pleasure.” Dave stood and shook hands with Peter.
“Well?” Dave asked me. “I’m not sure you need me anymore. Good thing. That was going to be a hard defense.”
“How about the glass ball? I’d like to get it back.”
“Not a problem. I’ll go pick it up out of Evidence and drop it by your house.”
I nodded, and we left.
“As a matter of fact, let’s stop on the way to taking you home,” Dave suggested, and I nodded.
“That would work.”
He pulled up outside the courthouse and was inside about fifteen minutes before returning to the car, where I waited.
“Here you go.” He handed over the bowling ball bag, and I clutched it against my chest as it rested on my lap. It was my connection to the world on the other side.
14
Consulting the Ages
Mortimer House was quiet when I arrived home. Gretchen and Sylvia were waiting for me. I discovered they’d been in the courtroom, but I hadn’t paid attention. Sylvia had baked a cake to celebrate, and the “Closed” sign was displayed on the front door.
“We need a couple days to recover.” I nodded, agreeing they’d done the right thing.
“Was it just awful—being in jail?” Gretchen wanted to know. She was leaning on her elbows, pulled back somewhat as if I was poison.
“Oh, get off it, Gretchen. Of course, it was awful. They’re not resorts, you know. Peter did his best to make things as comfortable as possible for me, but there’s only so much he can do.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re out, just the same,” chimed in Sylvia. “We need our girl home, under our roof.” She rubbed my shoulder and gave me a hug. I truly did have a family without being related to any of them.
“Are you mad at Peter?” Gretchen always went for the love interest.
“No, of course not. He had a job to do, and if he hadn’t done it, he would have been the one to get into trouble. He had no choice. I knew that.”
We ate cake and drank coffee at leisure and then began straightening up the house from the visit by the carny people. It felt good to do some physical labor and get the house back in order.
As I finished making up the last bed, I decided to go out to the store and poke around in the books. I’d cleared them out of what had been Aunt Mable’s library and stacked them on shelves in the store and the living room of the house. There were hundreds. I pulled a couple of volumes and went straight to the index, but saw no reference to The Stolen Heart nor the glass ball.
Since I was cleared of being involved, I decided that the time needed to thoroughly go through the books would be demanding, and I could do a few at a time. I wanted to help Peter solve his crime, but there were limits to what I could do.
I’d intended to put the bag back into my safe but had forgotten it in my bedroom. I went back into the house, spotting Gretchen on the phone with her latest amore and Sylvia snoring in the recliner in the living room. Lizzie Borden followed me at a trot as I went up to my room to get the bag. I sat down on the bed to pet Lizzie. She was feeling vulnerable after my absence and needed a little extra attention.
Lizzie brought me her favorite toy, a stuffed elephant that no longer sported ears. I threw it across the room so she could chase it down and bring it back. It gave her exercise and made for some bonding between us.
The game went that at first, I’d throw it three or so feet and each time thereafter, a little further. We’d gotten wound up, and I threw it completely across the room, where it actually hit the window before falling to the polished wood floor. Lizzie leaped on it, growling furiously and then bounded toward me, jumping up on the bed to return the errant elephant.
Her forward momentum and short but powerful body rocked the bed, and the bowling ball bag fell over, the glass ball rolling out onto the mattress. Sherlock was quick to respond, coming out of his latest hiding place to explore the bag.
To my disbelief, he emerged, The Stolen Heart in his mouth as he scooted across the bed toward his hideaway. “Sherlock! Come here!” I barely caught him in time and snatched the pendant from his grasp.
“How the…?”
I looked at it closely
, and it appeared exactly as it had before. I ran my hand all over inside the bag to see if there was some hidden pocket or compartment into which it could have slid. There was none.
I felt numb from the discovery and the returning fear that I would be blamed for having stolen it again if I said anything. However, if I didn’t say something, Peter would bear the brunt of the responsibility, and it was neither fair nor legal. I shook off the paralyzed feeling and quickly shoved both back into the bag and crept downstairs, returning to the store as calmly and with normal behavior as possible. Inside, I shoved the bag into the safe, slammed the door, and spun the dial for the combination lock. My heart was hammering as I fell into my desk chair, trying to decide what to do. That’s where Fred found me a few minutes later.
“So, how’s it going, Miss Jailbird?” he began as he came in through the entrance from the house.
“Not funny, Fred.”
He looked at me and then asked, “What’s wrong?”
With every bit of acting ability I could summon up, I casually answered, “Not a thing, why?”
His brows folded together, and he squinted at me. “I think you’re fibbing. Remember, my mother was like you, and I have a bit of it, I think.”
“Well, then, you know that it’s unreliable as heck and your imagination, fueled by a few stiff drinks, makes you useless.”
He pivoted his head and moved in closer. “Not as much to drink as you might think, my dear. So, tell me, what’s going on?”
I pretended I didn’t understand his question. “Gretchen, Sylvia, and I had a little celebration with cake and coffee. There’s some in the kitchen that we saved for you. Then we cleaned up the hurricane in the house, and I came out here to relax and poke around in my things. How about you? Shall I guess where you’ve been?” There was a little bite to my words. I hoped it would throw him off track.